Barefoot on a Bar Floor and More Joyous Things

In my practical brain, I know this division of old year and new year is fairly arbitrary, and I try not to base my life upon it.  If I want to end an old habit or pick up a new one, I start when the motivation starts.

But this time of year does invite introspection and reflection.  The short daylight hours and colder weather drives me indoors, into stiller and stiller pursuits.  The days off while great groups of people celebrate their winter holidays gives me time to daydream, plan, vision.

I am leaving soon for time away from all blinking, beeping, buzzing things.  I am taking this time to hunker down and really plan in a way I never have before.  Although it feels a little woo-woo, I am going to vision out what I want for the next year.  I hope to come back with a detailed, written description of everything I hope (believe?) will happen for me in the next year.

Before that, though, I thought it would be fun to look back at my list of Things I Did This Year That I Never Thought I Would Do In Life.  In no particular order, here they are:

--danced barefoot on a bar floor
--traveled alone to another country
--claimed my identity as a small business owner
--went zip-lining
--performed (twice!) at a street fair
--got a massive tattoo, with color in it
--*** *** *** *** (Whatever you are imagining -- if it involves nakedness, you're probably right.)
--broke someone's heart (See, it's not all celebratory.)

--fired a professional who had worked with me for years
--gave away or sold every last fancy table decor thing 

--took long walks alone in the woods, during deer hunting season

--called out my employer for illegal labor practices

--sent my writing out into the world without hours of agonizing over minutiae

Onward.  

Essentialism

This weekend I met up with a friend I hadn't seen in quite some time.  Our conversation turned to life plans, and how we are structuring our living arrangements to support what we want.  I talked about my plans to downsize, to greatly reduce my living expenses so I could afford to travel, and maybe take a day off every once in a while.  She was doing something similar, and she told me that there is even a name for it -- essentialism.

How perfect is that?  Essentialism.  Identifying and spending energy only on those things which are essential to your life.  I felt lighter just thinking of the concept.  

Then I promptly forgot about it.  I have spent the past few days not sleeping enough, running from client to home to other thing to who knows where, with no clear idea of anything beyond the next thing on my calendar.  This morning, in the clear light of exhaustion, I knew that I have been addressing all the things that are essential to those around me, but not to myself.  Without a partner to see me from outside myself, it is difficult to catch these bursts of frantic activity.  This is another continuing adjustment in living Mapless -- the external view from inside.

Today, after an evening doing something I love, and (finally) a good night of sleep, I am back to essentials.  Sleep, eat, move, breathe, and love.  All things with love.  

Stepping Forward, Looking Back

I wrote this a year and a half ago, when change was new and I was different.  Re-posting it now to encourage you all, dear ones, to glance back and really see how far you've come:

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It was less than twenty minutes into our meeting when my realtor had me married to one of the doctors I get referrals from, traveling the world, and probably living in a giant house in Winnetka.  Sold to us by her, of course. 

The first time I talk to anyone about the pending divorce, the reactions are priceless.  I still dread trying to answer "What happened?" and "How are you?" with the mythical, perfect combination of brief, thorough and positive.  But I am starting to look forward to the reactions,  in a purely anthropological way.  The range is instructive, and, more even than a catastrophic illness, it reveals who is a stand-in-the-fire next to you kind of friend.  I have those, to my delight. 

There is A., who shocked me a little with her reaction: "Now you can have a 3-way if you want!" but soon won me over with her unshakeable conviction that this is the blow that will crack my earthly shell and reveal the Goddess who was there all along.

There is my surrogate Jewish mother, who let me come to her home on the Sabbath, the day he moved out.  She took me and my brokenness and uncontrolled crying and did that thing loving moms and dear friends are so good at-- She brought me tissues until I was done crying and brought me food until I was strong enough to return to my newly empty home.

There is lovely C., in a far away city, so clearly wanting to be nearby.  She took moments away from her move and her family to Skype with me, gently advising me to take note of myself and how I really am in the midst of all my planned distractions.

S., on the far side of the country, who used her special brand of firm compassion to remind me to stand up for myself. 

J., my friend and mentor, also far away, who makes me feel smart even as I feel my mind is slipping. She lets me show weakness, but won't let me get away with less than I am capable of.

N., my co-worker, who helped me believe the guy who called me a "sexy goofball" was not mistaken about the first part.

And, most fortunately, my parents.  My mother who helps me to protect myself and lets me know that capital-H Home is always an option.  My father who texts me every day to tell me he loves me.  Both of them carefully following my lead about how they should think of my ex.  They loved him too, after all.

So, despite the random realtor who means well but misses the mark, or acquaintances who choose to think this, like a bad case of stomach flu, will pass by, I find that those closest to me are living up to that closeness.  They have built a wall for me to hide behind while I fall apart, and when I am ready, they will turn around and put me back together again.  We are a closed secret society, and our mission code name is: Operaton Sexy Goofball.